


Shades

by fizzfooz



Category: Final Fantasy XV
Genre: Blind Ignis Scientia, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Nonconathon Treat, Rape, Revenge, World of Ruin
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-13
Updated: 2019-07-13
Packaged: 2020-05-20 18:57:05
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,250
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19382767
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fizzfooz/pseuds/fizzfooz
Summary: There are other threats than daemons in the World of Ruin.





	Shades

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Lagerstatte](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lagerstatte/gifts).



In the seconds between the darkness of sleep and the darkness of wakefulness, Ignis thought he was being mauled. A daemon, somehow, had made it into the haven. Its protection weakened by Noct's long absence. Then the pain lanced through his abdomen, insides clenching around the intrusion. Sharp, and then sharper still. He let out a strangled cry, all of his awareness focused pin-sharp on that. Something-- _someone_ was inside him. Hitting a threshold of pain that transformed into nausea and back again, stomach and guts cramping as the cock rammed inside him, dulling as he eased back.

White noise roared in Ignis' ears.

This couldn't be-- This wasn't-- There was some kind of mistake.

Clammy air hit Ignis' back. He'd been stripped. Not even his shoes remained, bare toes scrabbling as he tried to pull away.

Too late, he tried to summon his daggers. He'd forgotten he even had hands. They were bound. With electrical tape or something like it, wound round and round them into an inescapable mitt. Inside it was tacky with adhesive and sweat. If he did manage to summon his daggers, he'd only hurt himself.

The cock plunged into him so hard it was surely reshaping him. Hammering his tailbone into his skull. Like he was being fucked with the flared end of a baseball bat. Sickness rolled from his stomach to his throat.

The roar in his ears faded. Other sounds seeped in. The man was loud about taking his pleasure. Constant, satisfied moans and grunts. Ostentatious, like a porn star. Ignis realised he too was making noises. The air forced out of him every time the man bottomed out. Small, involuntary hisses and low, pathetic moans.

All of this information washed over him in a matter of seconds. The details didn't matter. All he needed to think about was escape.

He scrambled, getting his knees under him. One slid across his sleeping bag, the other scraped across the stone of the haven. The new angle made his abdomen cramp harder, the man making a satisfied, gluttonous noise as he somehow slid even deeper. There was a moment when Ignis thought he'd pass out but a stubborn streak of self-preservation kept him awake.

“Stop. _Stop._ ”

Ignis didn't know why he'd said it. Someone who would do this was unlikely to stop simply because he'd asked. Affirmation, perhaps, that he didn't want this. As if every screaming tendon in his body wasn't affirmation enough.

The man tightened his grip on Ignis' hips, adding new bruises to old. Pulled him flush as he tried to inch away with an obscene slap of his balls against Ignis' crawling flesh. Ignis hooked one leg around him, preparing to flip him. If he could just get enough distance to _think_ , he could--

The man slammed his head into the haven floor so hard purple-blue-white flashed behind his eyelids, lighting up the grey his world had been since he'd lost his sight. It shorted him out. He lost all motor control, limbs akimbo, face flat.

And still, the man's cock stabbed into him. The crease between his buttocks was tacky. Blood. Definitely blood. Beyond the awful, constant slams inside him there was a not-rightness similar to when he'd had appendicitis as a child.

It was robbing him of his ability to plan, to fight, to think clearly, his whole self. 

“Stop.”

He couldn't help himself.

The man shushed him. Actually shushed him. A peal of hysterical laughter escaped him. _I'm sorry, am I making this rape unpleasant for you?_ Ignis scrabbled again. Pointless. He had no leverage with which to pull himself away, both hips held fast now the man was prepared for retaliation. No hands. No sight. He tried to kick but hit nothing, just twinged his spine, lower back spasming. 

“Don't make me have to kill you,” the man said.

Oh, that was too far, was it? That was where he drew the line? The sarcasm was garbled by the time it reached his mouth. “Stop. No more. Please--”

The man clapped one hand over Ignis' mouth. Almost a relief to have the option to beg taken away. “Pretty thing like you should be used to this.”

Ignis bit his hand, bearing down until his teeth met. All it earned him was a smack that rattled his skull. The man's pace didn't even slow. Ignis would hear the sound of his thighs slapping against his long after this was over. He spat out the clump of palm he'd taken, gagging at the taste of blood. The man yanked him back, flush again.

The man grunted and came. More wetness trickled down the inside of Ignis' thighs. The man shoved him away. Ignis fell with nothing to support him, collapsing down onto the sleeping bag. Ignis lay limp, hating himself all the more for playing possum when this should have been his opportunity to fight.

“Clean me off.”

“I don't--” Understand? But the man grabbed a handful of his hair and dragged him up to his knees, and he understood quickly enough. 

Which didn't stop him struggling. He yanked his head back so hard hairs ripped from his scalp and his neck twinged. But it got him out of the grip. He tried to stand on jelly legs but what could he do even if he stood? Run with his hands bound? He could hear the daemons prowling around the haven. More than he'd ever heard in this spot before. Attracted by the noise? Or the act itself?

The man grabbed him by the back of the neck this time and the motion as he was dragged back to his knees made him see spots again.

“My cock stinks of your ass. Clean it off.”

“Why are you doing this?” Why any of it but why this in particular? When he'd already taken so much. Why him? Why? Knowing wouldn't help. Not really. But he'd always strived for knowledge. He couldn't stop now.

“Because, princess--” _Why that nickname of all the things he could have said?_ “I wanted to fuck your sweet ass and I now I want to fuck that pretty little mouth. That's the world now. Take whatever you can get.” Something harder and colder pressed into the side of Ignis' head. The muzzle of a gun. “Bite down and I'll blow your brains out. And smearing that face of yours on the ground would be a damned waste.”

He pressed the fingers of his free hand into Ignis' jaw, right under his chin. Ignis kept his mouth closed, clenching his teeth until he couldn't anymore. The rough fingers found a sore spot and his mouth popped open. The man's vile cock plunged in.

He hit the back of Ignis' throat on the first thrust. Breached it right after. If he could get his wits about him, Ignis might have preferred that. It was preferable to having to taste it. But instead he flailed in sheer animal panic as his throat convulsed around it, heedless of the gun. He fought his rising gorge. If he threw up like this he might actually choke. The gun nudged against him. He tried to breathe through his nose as if mere air could calm him, could calm anyone in this situation.

The man's roving hand trailed over his cheek and chin, then tilted his face up. “Those eyes are real pretty,” he said, pausing to moan out his pleasure as another spasm racked Ignis' throat and chest. “You can't see, right? Were they green before? They're like sea glass now. Weird something defective can look so good.”

Poking at his blindness was hardly even a sting, not after he'd raped him. Was still raping him. His throat was bruised outside and in. His gag reflex kept on firing and firing. He about managed to hold onto the contents of his stomach. He couldn't die like this. Deep-throated to death.

The man swiped a finger under Ignis' left eye. The scarred one. “Tough, aren't you? No tears. Guess all the weak ones died early.”

The man shoved Ignis off him. Something warm and viscous hit Ignis' face. The man grabbed Ignis by the crown of his head and turned his face this way and that. 

“That's a good look on you.” He hauled Ignis up and tossed him back down on his sleeping bag. “Get some rest til I can get it up again.”

“What?” He understood. He wasn't that addled. But he rejected it, the very idea that this wasn't over.

“Or stay awake. I don't give a fuck. Won't take me long for you. Bet plenty of guys could come from just looking at you like that. Takes a bit more for me, though.”

Must he insist on talking? Ignis didn't reply. He knew when he was being provoked. If this was the only thing he could deny him then deny him he would. Ignis was still bleeding. His abdomen ached. He needed a potion before infection could set in. “Someone will see you,” he said, trying to appeal to the rationality of a man who clearly had none. “If you stay here.”

“I don't mind giving them a turn.”

No. _No_. He'd already lost his home, his sight, _Noctis_ , not this, not again. He wasn't allowed to linger over his self-pity for long. The man recovered as quickly as he'd threatened. He kicked Ignis onto his back and nudged his legs apart with the caps of his boots. Ignis' bound arms were a dead weight underneath him, but his legs...

He kangaroo-kicked the man, landing both feet on his chest. They met with a satisfying thump. The man's breath was forced out of him in a breathy exhale. He hoped he'd broken a few ribs. The man caught Ignis' ankles as he tried to kick again and scissored his legs apart. Ignis resisted but he was weak with blood loss and every movement jarred his injuries. Through slow, inexorable pressure the man managed to spread his legs enough to hook them over his shoulders.

He was slower this time, bending Ignis in half while he pressed his cock inside him. Ignis' hole burned around the new intrusion. “I don't mind the scars,” the man said, as if Ignis gave a damn about what he minded. Even the slower, almost ginger thrusts pierced him. He'd been stupid not to fight harder when he had the chance. Not to go wild enough that this man had to put him down. The way his organs had been brutalised, no blood or even spit, he surely must have torn. He'd die anyway. Not nobly trying to defend himself but a slow, agonising death from sepsis.

Things were surreal now. Endorphins coming up to meet him as he spent the last of his adrenaline. The pain was there but it was padded. No more hyper focus on every last minute detail of his violation.

The man finished more quietly this time, coming inside Ignis with a grunt. He discarded Ignis again. There was the sound of a bottle opening to his left. The rustle of the man's clothing. He took several long drinks. The _glug glug_ of a bottle emptying fast. Then he kicked Ignis in the side. Sharp pain exploded through his ribs,

“You're lucky I like that bit of fight in you.”

Lucky. Ignis scoffed. He'd give him more than a bit of fight the second he had the chance. For now, he lay where the man had dropped him. The man pressed the bottle of water to his lips.

“Drink.”

Ignis took a mouthful just to spit it out at him. It was petty in the extreme and pointless too. Most of it ended up splashing back onto his face. But he didn't have to take a false kindness even if he did have to take everything else. The man backhanded him. A ring split Ignis' lip.

He wrestled Ignis – kicking and spitting still – back down to the ground. Shoved his half-hard cock back inside him. Squeezed Ignis' throat so tight that his fingers clawed his windpipe.

_Noct._

A gunshot rang out quickly, followed by another. It took Ignis a moment to realise he hadn't been shot. There was a shocked gasp from the man. His sudden release told Ignis at least one of those shots had hit him. Not fatally, though. He was dragging himself across the haven. Returning fire.

Ignis could see some tonal ranges. Not shapes or details but he had some idea of whether it was night or day. Always night now. The sky above him lit up like a sunburst.

_Starshell?_

Now the tears came. Now it was over. How foolish. The man must still be inside the haven and alive. Saying “shitshitshitshit”. There were more gunshots. Nearer every time. Finally, Prompto's footfalls – he recognised them even in this state. Prompto was always full of frenetic energy. Extra movements. He sounded like he was tapping his feet when he walked. The man's _shitshitshit_ had become _fuckfuckfuck_ , voice ever more strained.

Prompto still went to Ignis first. Ignis rolled onto his front. Prompto immediately understood.

Gasping, maybe crying too, Prompto cut his hands free. He pulled something – the sleeping bag? – over Ignis' shoulders as he forced himself to sit up. An armiger flash and a blanket was draped over Ignis' lap. Ignis tied it around his waist.

“One shot in the arm, one in the leg,” Prompto said, pushing the knife he'd used to cut Ignis free into his hands. “He's alive. Looking pretty pale, but alive.”

Ignis nodded, giving silent thanks for what Prompto was giving him. It wouldn't change what had happened but he'd never let it happen again. It took him a couple of tries to get to his feet, Prompto hovering near his elbow, but he managed it. He shook off Prompto's assistance and found his way to the man, following the sounds of his ragged breathing.

He dug the knife into the man's stomach, just deep enough to peel the layers back. He didn't try to fight back and Ignis assumed the sound of Prompto cocking his gun was responsible for that.

“How many daemons are still out there?” Ignis asked.

“Kinda a lot. I killed some but there's... yeah, a lot.”

“Help me to eject him from the haven.”

The man did drag his heels when they picked him up. He fought too, splashing blood from his wounds onto both of them. But the haven wasn't very big and Ignis was now pulling strength from some primordial place deep within himself. He shoved the man into the mass of daemons. Heard their roars and rumbles.

The screams painted a picture but not in nearly enough detail. “Describe it to me.”

“Uhhhh... There's kinda a fight going on? Some mindflayers, some rodins, and there's imps crawling all over. The rodins are winning. Got both of his legs. The imps are... uh... ummm...” Prompto took a wet, shuddering breath. Still crying? Ignis wasn't. “The imps are just chowing down on whatever they can get. Got most of his face. He's still alive.”

Yes, Ignis could tell by the cries. Ignis hadn't screamed like that even when he was being tortured. “Go on.”

“Mindflayers are moving in. They've got him in that icky life-draining thing they do. What's left of him anyway. They kinda left his arm and his legs for the rest. I don't think he's gonna-- Gonna get out of that.”

Ignis had felt a mindflayer's embrace only once and he'd had to thrash with all of his might while the others hacked at it to get out. He'd emerged shaken and faint. The man's screams turned to desperate gaps, then bubbling gurgles. It went on for some time, Ignis' ears sucking up every second of it.

“I think... I think that's it,” Prompto said, when there was only the sounds of the daemons left.

“Thank you.”

“Gods, Iggy! You don't have to thank me. I couldn't get here fast enough. I--”

“Why are you here at all?”

Sniffling, his voice was higher pitched than usual. “Just passing through.”

In other circumstances, Ignis would have remarked that it was uncanny how often Prompto was 'just passing through' when Ignis was on a hunt. Gladio also said he ran into him far too often for it to simply be coincidence.

“Are my clothes still here?”

“They're all ripped up. Sorry. Gods. Sorry. I--” He was on the verge of hysteria, voice pitching higher and higher. Ignis didn't know what he would have done, had their positions been reversed. He tried to keep his mind far from thoughts of Prompto and Gladio, and what could be happening to them in the never-ending darkness. He shushed Prompto gently because if he broke down, Ignis wasn't sure he could keep himself together.

“I'm gonna use an elixir on you.”

He smashed it before Ignis could protest that a potion would do. Elixirs were so rare these days. It was a waste.

Or perhaps a potion wouldn't have done the trick. The roaring agony in his lower body faded to the tolerable ache of over-exertion. His throat went from tight to merely tender. The relief almost sent him to his knees.

“Do you wanna wash up?” Prompto was sniffling still but trying to do it quietly.

Ignis, curiously, felt nothing. He knew it was a defence mechanism. That he'd begin to process what had happened in the days that followed. For now, he should be practical. While he still could be. “I may need your assistance.”

“Sure, Iggy. Whatever you need.”

Prompto cried through that too. Asking every time he needed to touch Ignis, voice thick. He had to do the bulk of the work. Ignis' mind wandered through the whole thing, Prompto lifting his limbs as if he were a comatose patient receiving a bed bath. Prompto ran a washcloth over him in gentle, tentative movements. Ignis' mind floated somewhere else when it came to the worst of the mess in his most intimate areas. He came back when Prompto was dabbing behind his knees.

When his skin was free of blood and sperm, Prompto dashed away. Faintly, Ignis heard him retching.

Ignis pulled spare clothing from the arsenal. He couldn't face the buttons and buckles of his usual attire, so he borrowed one of Gladio's T-shirts. It wasn't as if Gladio ever wore them. It was overlarge, covering his nudity by itself. He pulled out a spare pair of briefs anyway. And his spare pair of pyjama bottoms.

Prompto returned, crouching down beside him. “Anything else?”

“No.”

“Do you wanna go back to Lestallum?”

“Not yet.”

“Okay, Iggy.”

Silence spread out, broken only by the daemons roaring in the distance.

“I took sleeping pills,” Ignis said. Someone had to know of the stupid decision he'd made. He'd found them on his last scavenging mission. One of the other hunters had told him to keep them, they were useless to the clinic which needed antibiotics and painkillers, wished him a good night's sleep. “I doubt anyone is sleeping naturally anymore. I thought out here, surrounded by daemons, what harm could it do? I neglected to consider threats other than daemons. I--”

“It doesn't matter, Iggy. What you did or didn't do or whatever.”

“I--”

“Seriously. It doesn't matter.”

“I don't want anyone to know about this. Not even Gladio. Do you understand?”

“Sure, Iggy.” Another sniff. Perhaps Prompto had never stopped crying. “Whatever you need.”


End file.
